


False Memories

by emilyshee



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil Is Not Described, Cecil is Human, Episode: e033 Cassette, M/M, but Cecil is otherwise not described
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-23 13:38:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2549495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilyshee/pseuds/emilyshee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After listening to Cecil play the Cassettes on the air, Carlos goes to Cecil's prepared to talk about what happened, give him a shoulder to cry on, and use science to investigate whether reality matches Cecil's memories or those recordings.  Cecil prefers to refuse to acknowledge that anything happened and drink to forget.  Carlos does his best to take care of him anyway (though the only way a stubbornly drunk Cecil will allow himself to be taken care of is to convince him that he's actually the one taking care of Carlos.)</p><p>ETA:  Second chapter involves Carlos calling Cecil's sister to ask for advice/information.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

> _I’m looking in a mirror. The mirror is not covered. The flickering movement is just…behind me. I–_
> 
> _*Screams, followed by strangled sounds*  *a thud*  
> _

The scientists had developed a rhythm in the months since Carlos had started dating Cecil and listening to the radio in the lab had instantly gone from forbidden to compulsory. They all looked up in synchronous horror at the terrible noises coming from the radio, then Dave pushed away from his microscope and silently walked over to take the glowing beaker from Carlos’s hands, while Rochelle picked up the clipboard with the day’s schedule and began looking over the list of remaining experiments, letting Carlos know without words that he was free to go and all his responsibilities there would be taken care of. Carlos wanted to thank them, but he did not want the sound of his own voice to interfere with his fevered analysis of Cecil’s continuing broadcast, listening intently as Cecil’s controlled panic gave way to outwardly calm expostulations on the nature of relationships between adults and teenagers, trying to sense what Cecil was feeling about his own specific experience as he made universal statements that were wise and true. Instead, Carlos settled for giving them each a distracted but grateful smile as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

He called the second Cecil got off the air, hanging up and trying again when the call went to voicemail. By the fourth attempt he was already half-way in his car, ready to drive down to the station whether Cecil answered or not, when he got the text. “Can’t talk now; getting ready for tomorrow’s show. Will be about an hour. Also, can we reschedule our dinner plans? I just really need a night in.” Carlos texted back, “Of course. Absolutely. I love you.” Then he packed his car with some portable science equipment, stopped off at the Ralph’s, and let himself into Cecil’s apartment with his spare key. Almost two hours later he was considering how much more time he ought to give Cecil before driving down to the station and checking up on him when he finally heard the sound of Cecil’s key in the door.

Cecil entered, carrying a plain brown bag from the liquor store and a bag of ice. He started when he saw Carlos waiting for him.

“Carlos?” Cecil said, “What a- a nice surprise!”

But he didn’t sound like it was a nice surprise. He sounded like he was disgruntled and trying to cover it up.

It had not occurred to Carlos that Cecil might want to be alone – he had assumed that “I need a night in” meant a night in together, had taken it for granted that his presence would be not only welcome, but expected, and that Cecil would want and need to see him after everything that happened.  Suddenly he felt unsure and wrong-footed - and also, terribly presumptuous.

“I made baked ziti,” Carlos said weakly.

“You made dinner?” Cecil’s horribly tight smile brightened a little. “Well isn’t that sweet.” As he spoke, he walked over to the sidebar in the corner and pulled out the ice bucket and a glass. “But unfortunately, I’m just not hungry tonight.” He opened the bag of ice he’d been carrying and poured it into the bucket, then he removed the bottle from the brown bag and plunged it in. “But you go right ahead and eat.” Cecil picked up his bucket and glass and walked over to the couch. “I’ll be fine.” He smiled at Carlos, who was still standing awkwardly in the doorway to the kitchen. Carlos watched him pour two fingers of amber liquid into his glass and drain it in one gulp.

“Are you OK?” he asked, walking over to stand awkwardly next to the couch instead.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Cecil refilled his glass and downed it again.

“Well, today on the show…”

“Doing the show doesn't upset me.  I'm a radio professional! And there were no disasters, no casualties to report, just news, weather – a very boring day. How about you, how was science today?”

“Science was fine. You really don’t want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Cecil poured himself a third glass.

Carlos didn't know what to do.  He was still having trouble grasping the idea that Cecil didn't need him.  And there he was with that terrible false cheerfulness, pretending that nothing was wrong, ignoring Carlos while he drank determinedly and keeping up that forced smile like this was all normal behavior.  Carlos struggled to find something to say that was nonjudgmental but still an appropriate reaction to what was happening. All he could come up with was,

“I didn’t know you drank Scotch.”

“Oh, I don’t. Can’t stand the stuff,” said Cecil, before gulping down what he had just poured and refilling the glass with more aged single-malt.

“So why are you?”

“Oh you know what they say! If you see something, say nothing, and drink to forget.”

“What are you trying to forget?” asked Carlos.

“Nothing,” said Cecil, “Absolutely **_nothing._** ”

Cecil stared off into the distance. Not knowing what else to do, Carlos walked back into the kitchen and brought him a bottle of water from the fridge. He still wasn't sure how to handle...this... but he did know that he was rapidly becoming concerned about the physical toll this was going to take on Cecil’s body if he didn't slow down.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Carlos asked.

“Nope!” said Cecil, as he ignored the proffered water bottle and took a long swig from what was now his fourth glass. At least he had stopped downing them like shots.

“Ethanol is absorbed more quickly into the bloodstream when there are no food particles in the stomach to absorb it.”

“That’s the idea,” said Cecil cheerfully as he took another long sip, emptying his glass again. Carlos forced the water bottle into his hand before he could refill it, and Cecil reluctantly drank about a third of it before putting it down and grabbing his bottle of Scotch.

“Cecil, you really should eat something, you’re going to make yourself sick.” Cecil ignored him.

“Please talk to me,” Carlos said, sitting down next to Cecil on the couch, “I’m worried about you.”

“We are talking. And there is no reason for you to be worried about me. Nothing happened today, or at any time in my past that could be at all upsetting! There’s no reason to worry about things that **_did not happen_**.”

He gave Carlos a look like he was daring him to argue. As he glared, his eyes suddenly went bleary and he started to sway slightly, as if all the alcohol he had just rapidly consumed had finally hit his bloodstream. Arguing with him now seemed unwise.

“All right. All right, I won’t ask anymore about anything that happened today. I promise. But I would really feel better if you would eat something. Please, for me.”

_“No.”_

Carlos stared at Cecil’s stubborn features, and he must have looked worried enough to penetrate the alcohol fog that was settling inside his boyfriend, because Cecil sighed a little and drank some more water, pointedly shaking the now nearly empty water bottle in Carlos’s face as if to show Carlos that he was taking care of himself. (The gesture might have been more effective if Cecil hadn’t misjudged the distance and nearly hit him with it.)

Carlos bit his lip. Cecil might be willing to hydrate a little to allay Carlos’s concern, but he knew how stubborn intoxicated people could be and he didn’t think that either reason or abject begging could get Cecil to eat now that he’d refused. Carlos wished he knew how to handle this. He’d never seen Cecil like this before.  Hearing those tapes had not made him feel like he didn't really know his boyfriend.  Whatever had happened when Cecil was fifteen changed nothing that they had built between them since he'd come to town over a year ago.  But the Cecil he thought he knew didn't drink heavily, and wore his emotions on his sleeve, and was good at talking things out.  Suddenly, this rictus-grinning man with a bottle in his fist who wouldn't talk to or even properly look at Carlos seemed like a stranger.  What did he know about Cecil that would not turn out to be different now, in these extraordinary circumstances?

 _I know that he loves me_ , thought Carlos, and suddenly he knew one thing he could do for his boyfriend.

“Oh, OK,” Carlos said, in as small a voice as he could muster.  He knew that this would never work if Cecil was sober - Carlos was a terrible liar and Cecil always saw right through him - but he thought Cecil was sloshed enough that he might buy it.  Carlos did his best to look pitiful, “It’s fine. I understand, it’s just-”

“Just what?” Cecil blinked at him blearily.

“I thought you _liked_ my cooking.” Carlos made his best sorrowful face. He could feel that he was overdoing it, but Cecil looked genuinely convinced as he protested.

“I do!”

“No, really, it’s fine,” said Carlos. He heaved a theatrical sigh, “You don’t have to lie anymore. I’ll go throw out what I made and we can order something you like.”

“No, Carlos, I'm really not hungry, I swear.”

Carlos started to get up. Cecil grabbed his wrist clumsily.

“But I might be starting to feel a bit - *burp* - peckish, if you’d just leave it for later…”

Carlos leaned over and lightly ran his fingers over Cecil’s hair. “All those times I’ve made you dinner and you pretended to like it! You really are so sweet. But don’t worry, I won’t make you do that anymore. This is the last time I’ll ever cook for you, I promise!”

 _“No!”_ Cecil shouted, looking slightly panicked. He nearly knocked Carlos over as he stumble-ran into the kitchen. “See, hungry,” he said, as he plopped into a kitchen chair. He made an exaggerated pantomime of sniffing. “Mmmm, smells good!”

Carlos tried to keep the relief off his face as he followed Cecil into the kitchen and began spooning baked ziti onto the plates. He had to look skeptical until Cecil finished eating.

“Are you sure you’re not just trying to make me feel better?” asked Carlos, forcing a frown onto his face as he set a plate and a full glass of water (Cecil had forgotten to bring his whiskey, thank God!) in front of his boyfriend.

“No, really, like your cooking, love it when you cook for me, yes,” said Cecil, who started shoveling pasta into his mouth almost before Carlos had set down the plate. “Mmmmm.”

Carlos allowed himself a small grin as he sat down and started eating too. That was a relief. Carlos silently watched Cecil eat, making sure that he got a full meal in him to counteract what he'd already drunk.  Hopefully, at least some of the nutrients would be absorbed before Cecil made himself sick.

Now that he was no longer immediately worried about Cecil giving himself alcohol poisoning, Carlos found his own thoughts drifting back to those tapes. Why did Cecil not remember any of what was on them? Were they real? Maybe if Cecil had kept the pieces of the one he had destroyed, they could bring it back to the lab and run an analysis…He wondered if Cecil would like that or not.  Surely he would feel better if he knew, one way or the other.  Carlos certainly would.  Maybe they could discuss it tomorrow, when Cecil was sober...

“Carlos?” Cecil said suddenly, “If you found out something about me, that I wasn’t…who you thought I was - what you thought I was…you would still love me, right?”

Carlos decided to try one more time.

“Cecil, I heard the show today, I know what –“

“ _NOTHING HAPPENED ON THE SHOW TODAY!”_

“All right, OK,” said Carlos soothingly, “I’m sorry. Nothing happened.”

Cecil settled back into his chair. Carlos thought.

“Would I still love you if you were different? Do you mean if you changed, now, or if you’d always been different and I just found out about it?”

“If I’d always been different, something else,” said Cecil, “Since before you met me.”

“It took me almost a year to fall in love with you, just as you are now,” Carlos said, willing Cecil to feel how much he meant it, “There’s nothing I could find out about you that could make me fall out of it again.”

The relief on Cecil's face was amazingly poignant.  He smiled sappily at Carlos for a minute before he resumed eating.

Carlos hesitated, weighing the benefits and the risks, and decided that Cecil would want to hear what else he had to say, if he could phrase it carefully enough.

“I would love you no matter who or what you were,” he went on, “But all the scientific evidence suggests that you're as human as you've always assumed.”

“Scientific evidence?”

“We examined you at the lab after you got off the subway, remember, to make sure you were OK? We did a full DNA workup and complete physical. You have 100% human DNA and features.”

“That’s right! I had forgotten,” said Cecil, and he looked happier than he had since he’d walked through the door. Carlos felt some of the tension ease out of him as he realized he’d finally said something right. 

Cecil continued looking calmer for the rest of dinner, and Carlos began to hope that that that was all the reassurance Cecil needed - that whatever had happened that he couldn't remember, he was still Cecil, and Carlos still loved him.  The stiffness in his face gradually dissipated, as did the sense that he was using all of his restraint to hold back something dark inside him.  By the time he finished eating, Cecil was projecting only an air of intoxicated contentment.

"Thank you for the pasta," Cecil said, as he put his empty plate in the dishwasher.  Carlos winced as he dropped it in with a loud clunk.  "Hmm.  That's a funny word.  Pasta.  Pa-stah."

Cecil smiled vaguely as he returned to the couch, and to Carlos's disappointment, began swigging Scotch straight from the bottle.  He had really been hoping that Cecil wouldn't want to drink anymore now that he'd stopped looking so desperate.  Carlos put the leftovers away and grabbed a gallon jug of water from the fridge before joining him.

“Here,” he said, filling Cecil’s forgotten glass, “The more water you drink now, the lighter the hangover will be tomorrow.” He pushed the glass into Cecil's hand.  Cecil frowned at him, but he drank it before turning back to his bottle.  Carlos felt helpless.

“You know, you seem tense today,” Cecil said, “Are you sure you’re OK?”

Carlos laughed bitterly. "Am _I_ OK?"  He asked.  Cecil blinked at him in bleary innocence.  Carlos thought about Cecil's rapid change in demeanor and wondered...was it possible that he had already forgotten why he was drinking like this?

“Did something happen today, with science?” asked Cecil.

Carlos opened his mouth to say no, then abruptly changed his mind.

“Yeah, I actually had a really, really rough time with science today,” Carlos invented, “Sometimes science just doesn’t want to cooperate you know?  It can be really, ah, difficult.”

Cecil made a sympathetic noise and took another long drink. Carlos eyed the level of the bottle nervously as he put his arm around Cecil. Maybe if he distracted him…

“Tell me about it,” said Cecil, curling comfortingly into Carlos’s touch as he sipped lazily. Carlos had never been around a Night Vale native while they drank to forget, and he wondered how much more alcohol Cecil would consider it necessary to consume now that he no longer seemed aware why he was doing it.

“Well, you know the lab equipment’s not the most reliable. We’ve been having trouble with the mass spectrometer.” That much at least was true, although the issues it had caused today had been minor. “You know what the mass spectrometer is? Here, let me explain how it works.”

And Carlos explained, in the driest and most boring way he could manage, all the clinical details of every experiment he and the team had worked on that day. It wasn’t easy, because everything about science was inherently fascinating, but Carlos had learned through observation that there were areas of science that some people mysteriously found less interesting than others, and he fought to keep the excitement out of his voice as he threw at Cecil a lot of technical jargon that he would have had a hard time keeping up with sober. Eager to appear supportive, Cecil made a show of listening, nodding along and tossing out drunken, “uh-huh”s at random.  He was concentrating so hard on pretending to listen that Carlos managed to slip him another glass of water that Cecil drank without seeming to notice. Carlos pulled Cecil closer so that his head was resting on Carlos’s shoulder and used his free hand to stroke Cecil’s hair in a way that he knew from experience Cecil found very soothing. When his eyes began to droop, Carlos reached over and tried to gently pluck the Scotch bottle from Cecil's grasp (he planned to hide it behind the couch cushions), but Cecil snapped back to awareness and hugged it, clutching it close to him like a stuffed animal. Carlos had to resort listing the digits of pi in his dullest monotone before Cecil started to drift off again, and this time he waited until Cecil had actually started snoring slightly before moving, shifting their positions so that Cecil was lying with his head in Carlos’s lap, keeping up a running commentary the whole time so that the absence of his voice wouldn’t wake Cecil up. “Neat,” Cecil murmured drowsily, before falling completely asleep in Carlos’s lap.

Carlos kept listing numbers until he was certain that Cecil was all the way asleep. He thought about trying once more to remove the bottle, but decided that interfering with it would only wake him up again. Instead, he carefully shifted his position until he could reach his cell phone in his lab coat pocket. He held it still until he was sure that his movement hadn’t woken his boyfriend up, then Carlos called Cecil's sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been in my head for a while and I thought I'd write it up now the cassettes have been mentioned again. Let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Cecil shifted in Carlos's lap, rolling over so that he was lying on his stomach with his face turned to the side.  As he listened to the phone ringing in his ear, Carlos started rubbing Cecil's back in small circles.  This was surprisingly comfortable, cuddling Cecil like this, as if he had fallen asleep watching one of Carlos's science documentaries on Netflix.  He wished that they could stay like this all night, but he knew that all too soon Cecil would probably wake up and-

"Hi, Uncle Carlos," said an excited voice in his ear.

"Hi, Janice," said Carlos softly, trying not to wake Cecil up, "Is your mom home?  I really need to talk to her."

"Just a sec - Mom!" Carlos heard Janice shout.  Then there was a muffled conversation, then an adult voice resumed speaking.

"Carlos?" she said.

"Hi, listen, did you hear Cecil's show today?"

"I've told my brother that I will listen to his show when he stops using it to slander my husband.  And Carlos, I try not to get between them, so I appreciate the call, but whatever awful thing Cecil's said now, I just don't want to hear about it."

"This isn't about Steve Carlsberg!" Carlos hissed, surprised to hear himself say the name just like Cecil always did, "Something happened today on the show.  He found these - tapes, old cassette tapes, in a closet, that were labelled from when he was fifteen, and he said he didn't remember making them but he decided to play them on the show anyway, and the younger him started describing all these - things, weird things, that he claimed not to remember, like interning at the radio station, and seeing this weird flickering out the corner of his eye whenever he tried recording and - do you remember having a brother?"

"You mean other than the one you're sleeping with?"

"Yes!  Cecil - young Cecil, on the tapes - mentioned fighting with his brother and then my Cecil - I mean, um, present-day Cecil - said that he didn't remember having a brother.  And then the Cecil on the tapes described coming home to an empty house and knowing that his family was gone and finding all the mirrors uncovered and he narrated something coming up behind him and it sounded like - oh God - it sounded like we heard him _die."_

Carlos took a deep, shuddering breath.  He'd been so worried about Cecil's feelings he hadn't had time to deal with his own, and describing it to someone else suddenly brought home how horrible the experience had actually been - _he had heard his boyfriend die on the radio._

"Mom always said that someday something would kill him and it would involve a mirror," she said shakily.

"But he's not dead," Carlos protested, feeling the body on his lap rise and fall as it breathed in a deep, even rhythm.

"I know, I know, just let me think for a minute.  God, that sounds awful.  How's Cecil taking it?"

"He's not acknowledging that anything happened.  At all.  He just came home and started drinking.  And he won't even talk to me!"  Carlos heard the whine in his voice on that last sentence and abruptly hated himself.  Was that what he was really most worried about?  Not whatever happened to Cecil when he was fifteen and not what Cecil was going through now, but that Cecil wouldn't talk to him about it?  He was the worst boyfriend ever.

"I don't know what to do," Carlos said, a little more calmly.  Then, perhaps in an attempt to think about something that didn't make him feel panicked, "I didn't even know he drank Scotch."

"Oh, Cecil thinks that when you drink to forget, you should make sure to do it with a kind of alcohol you don't actually like.  Partly so it doesn't become a habit, partly so that you know that you're supposed to keep drinking after you get drunk enough to forget why you started.  He always gives that advice on air when we have a town-wide drinking to forget.  Last time, he came over and brought me a bottle of the kind of sickeningly sweet stuff he likes.  I think it might have been Amaretto."  He could hear her shudder over the phone.  "You didn't leave him alone, did you?"

"No, he's asleep.  But you think he'll keep drinking when he wakes up?"

"Did he pass out, or fall asleep naturally?"

"Naturally."

"Then at some point he'll wake up and keep drinking, yes."

"Damn."  Carlos sighed.  "What about what he heard on the tapes?  Was it true?"

"I was already out of the house when Cecil was fifteen, so I wouldn't know much about what was going on at home.  He did intern at the radio station, whether he remembers it or not, I know that.  I'm not sure if he'd already started when he was fifteen or if it was a little later, but he was definitely an intern in high school.  A brother, though...no, I don't remember us having a brother.  It was always just the two of us.  And Mom."

"Could you have forgotten too?"

"I don't know.  I don't think so.  It would take a _lot_ of reeducation to forget a family member, and I haven't been brought in nearly as often as Cecil has.  And...well, it's about the right time frame, but what you described...that's not what I remember happening to Mom either."

"So the tapes are a fake then?"  Carlos asked, "You think someone planted them?"  Carlos was thinking about a company that wanted to break their new radio host's spirit, that had access to recordings of his old shows and would know about his frequent existential crises, and his mother's prophecy about the mirrors.

"Maybe" she said, "Or they could be a relic from a parallel timeline.  Those have been showing up more and more since the City Council re-legalized time travel."

"But those are testable hypotheses!  I could figure out some way to date the tapes, I'm sure.  If they were made recently, there'll be some sign of it.  And if they're from a parallel timeline, there'll be anomalous residue and detectable radiation from the universe crossing.  When he wakes up, we can go get those tapes so I can run some tests and-"

"No," she said, "Carlos, Cecil is a grown man and this is his decision.  If drinking to forget is how he wants to handle it, then you have to let him do it."

"But this will help!  Once he knows, for sure, that will be better, right?"

"Carlos, why don't we feel earthquakes?"  He was nonplussed at the sudden change of subject.

"We have several hypotheses that could explain-"

"But you don't know, do you?"

"Well, there isn't quite enough evidence to prove-"

"And that house in the Desert Creek housing development.  Why doesn't it exist?"

"We're working on it."

"You've been working both of those since the day you got here, haven't you?  That's, what, a year and a half?  And you don't have any real answers on them.  You said you came to figure out what's going on around here, but have you managed to use science to prove the answer to anything?"

"I figured out that the city under the bowling alley is really tiny!  And I managed to stop the shadow energy from devouring everyone," he said defensively, but even as he said it, he felt how weak those answers really were.  Two victories, and they suddenly seemed very small.  He hadn't even really needed science for the bowling alley, he'd just needed to go down there and look.  That was practically journalism.  One of Cecil's interns could have done that.  "Science takes time."

"I don't doubt that," she said, "Look, I don't doubt that you've explained as much of Night Vale as is scientifically possible.  I'm sure no one could have done better.  But I want you to think about what would happen to Cecil if you make him remember and ask him to wait for your tests and they turn out as inconclusive as the ones on the house in Desert Creek.  What if he's still waiting from answers from you a year and a half from now?  What if you never conclusively learn anything?  And it's not impossible that those tapes are real.  My memories might be just as inaccurate as Cecil's.  Maybe we did have a brother.  Or maybe whatever young Cecil was calling a brother was some sort of creature that held him and my mother in psychic thrall, making them think it had always been part of the family.  We can't know.  If the tapes are fake, you might have a chance of proving it - but if they're not, we'll be no closer to explaining it.  You have to leave it alone unless and until Cecil asks you to investigate."

Carlos squirmed uncomfortably.  "But how can he ask me if he's going to forget it happened?"

"Carlos!  Drinking to forget doesn't make you permanently forget things (unless the City Council mandates it). It just pushes them to the back of your mind until you're ready to deal with them.  Didn't you learn this in kindergarten?  This is elementary thought control!"

"My elementary school didn't actually have a thought control curriculum," he said sheepishly.

"That explains a lot," he heard her mutter under her breath.  He smiled.  She and Cecil were so alike sometimes.  The thought relieved him of some of his defensiveness, and he took a minute to think over what she had just said.  Taking a deep breath, and with no small amount of struggle, he finally said,

"OK."

"OK what?"

"I'll leave the tapes alone," he promised reluctantly, "No investigations, no - no experiments."

"No science?" she asked suspiciously.

"No science," he agreed, wincing a little as the sense of helplessness overwhelmed him again.

"Promise?"

"I promise!" he said, "But-"

"Here it comes."

"But can I at least tell him about this conversation?"  He could hear the frustration in his voice.  "That's got to help, right, knowing that your memories match his and not the tapes?"

She hesitated.  "I really wouldn't," she said finally, "Not unless he brings it up.  I think it might do more harm than good."

Carlos sighed.  "So I can't do anything to help him?" 

"Stay with him," she said, "Keep him hydrated."

"I'm already doing that."  That horrible whine was back in his voice.

"Well, if you're really feeling like a challenge, you can try to get some food in him, but I should warn you that never works-"

"No, he already ate.  We had dinner together."

"You got him to eat?" she said, and he hadn't realized there'd been anything hard in her voice until he heard it soften.

"Yeah," he said uncertainly.

She was quiet for a minute.

"Carlos, can I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure."

"Why did it take you so long to ask my brother out?"

"Oh," Carlos blushed a little.  "Well, I don't fall in love instantly, the way he does.  It always takes me a while."

"And it took you a year?"

"Most of the year, yeah.  I'm a bit slow, when it comes to relationships."

"And the rest of it?"

"Well, um, I wasn't sure how long I was going to be staying in Night Vale.  I didn't want to start something knowing I might decide to leave pretty soon, especially when I knew he felt so strongly."

"But then you decided?"

"I think I made up my mind in the bowling alley, but I took a few weeks to think it over, just to make sure."  Carlos rested his hand on Cecil's back.  "I'm staying. For good."

"Well, I'm glad you are."

It sounded like a forgiveness and an apology all at once.  Carlos was bemused.  She had always been polite to him, so before this conversation Carlos had always assumed that Cecil's sister liked him.  But the new warmth in her voice that he hadn't known had been missing before made him realize that, until now, she had not approved of him as a match for her baby brother.  Apparently he'd been making all sorts of false presumptions about the Palmers.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" he asked.

"Go for it."

"What _do_ you remember happening to your mother?  Cecil never talks about it."

She sighed.  "That's kind of a long story..."

But before she could continue, Carlos felt Cecil stirring.  Maybe the sound of his name had broken into his slumber.

"I have to go, he's waking up."

"All right.  Bye Carlos."  But before he could say good-bye in return, she said, "Hold on," and there was a pause as if the phone was being passed to someone else.

"Bye, Uncle Carlos," said Janice's voice.

"Bye, sweetie," he said, smiling as he ended the call.  He wasn't sure why, as he hadn't gotten any of his answers, but he found that he felt much better than he had before making the phone call.

In his lap, Cecil rolled over so he could look up at him.

"Whowazzat?" he mumbled groggily.

"No one," said Carlos.  He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Cecil's forehead.  "I'm sorry I woke you."  He started playing gently with Cecil's hair.

Cecil's eyes narrowed as he became more alert.

" _Who were you calling 'sweetie?'"_ Cecil demanded.

 _"Janice,"_ Carlos said, grinning.

Cecil's face took on a look of comical dejection.  "I missed talking to Janice? Carlos!  You should have woken me up!"

"I don't think you're in any state to talk to a nine-year-old."

"Yeah, you're right." Cecil now looked dreamily happy.  "You're so smart!"  He reached up and stroked Carlos's cheek, just like he had on their first date.

Then he shifted position so that he was still in Carlos's lap but sitting up against the arm of the couch instead of lying down, and began unscrewing the top of the Scotch bottle.  Carlos put his hand on his wrist.

"More water first," Carlos pleaded.  Cecil glared at him.  "For me?"

Cecil muttered something incoherent, but let Carlos refill his water glass and hand it to him.  "I spoil you," he grumbled, as he took the glass.

"You do," Carlos agreed, "You really do.  You're the best boyfriend I've ever had."

Cecil glared at him again with sudden lucidity, as if he was dimly becoming aware that Carlos had been manipulating him all evening, but he drank all the water in the glass just the same.  (In the most begrudging manner Carlos had ever seen anyone drink.)  Then Cecil took another long swig from the Scotch bottle, and after all he'd heard, Carlos didn't try to stop him.  Cecil leaned his head against Carlos's shoulder and Carlos was prepared to snuggle as much as Cecil wanted when Cecil suddenly sat all the way up and looked at him suspiciously.

"Why would you be talking to Janice now?" he asked, and from the look on his face, Carlos was sure he was about to be accused of having an affair with Steve Carlsberg or something equally ridiculous; but to his surprise, Cecil continued, "Were you talking to **_my_ _sister?_** _"_ in the same tone of loathing that he usually reserved for Steve - which was especially odd because Cecil loved his sister almost as much as he loved his niece.

"Was she telling you _**lies**_ about my past?  Was she _confusing_ you with horrible _false memories?"_

"No, Cecil, she doesn't have any false memories.  Do you understand me?" He looked at Cecil intently.  "I asked her myself, and _your sister doesn't remember any lies."_

Carlos stared at him, willing Cecil to understand.  For a moment, Cecil stared back.  Then he grabbed Carlos by the collar and kissed him, hard and sloppy.  At first, Carlos was worried that Cecil had misinterpreted the intensity of his gaze and moved on to the horny stage of drunkenness, which he had no idea how he was going to handle, but Cecil abruptly let him go, nodded at him once, and then leaned back over the arm of the couch and took another swig from the bottle like a drunken pirate.  So that had been Cecil showing him that he understood and saying thank you.

"I need to pee," Cecil muttered, rolling off the couch and stumbling in the direction of the bathroom.  Considering the amount he'd already drunk, Carlos was surprised that hadn't happened earlier.  The rest of the night was a confused jumble of memories - Cecil drunkenly trying to teach Carlos the high school fight song and getting the words mixed up with the day's weather, rubbing Cecil's back as he threw up in the toilet, wrestling the phone away before Cecil could drunk-dial Steve Carlsberg and shout abuse at him, cleaning Cecil up after he pissed himself, holding Cecil as he cried about how beautiful Night Vale was (Just beautiful, you know?  We don't deserve to live in a town like this, no one does), and supporting him as Cecil staggered drunkenly to bed where he finally passed out.  Carlos lied down beside him, holding Cecil's hand until he, too, fell asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted to write about someone asking Cecil's sister about the events of Cassette ever since we found out he had one, because it seemed like she would know. I decided it would be more fun to have Carlos ask her than Cecil. I can't wait until we meet her in canon and she finally has a name!*
> 
> Let me know what you think about how the story turned out!
> 
> *I imagine my other story involving Cecil's sister, 6 Reasons Why Cecil's Sister Hated Carlos, happening sometime before this.


End file.
